Grand theft auto III The after math
by sexandthecity
Summary: The after math


day: friday  
time: 9:00 AM.  
location: joey leone's garage.

It was time to start over. Liberty City was torn into scrambling druggies and would be gangsters trying to take the leftovers of a single man that went on one devastating rampage. The once strong gangs of every district of the city were now all equally picking up the pieces. Everyone was suffering blows, but none had suffered a blow as hard as the Leone Family. The streets were calling and the greedy Diablos had already began to push in on the Red Light District. Salvatore was a huge loss and Liberty City was beginning to think the Leones were nothing now.

Joey Leone was brooding inside the lonely garage that had once been his passion. Joey had no passion now, it was all dead to him. Every single person was dead to him now. He couldn't comprehend that his father was gone. The love and teachings that Salvatore had given him were all that was left. The lone Leone had taken refuge in his garage, hiding from the world and not picking up the phone for anyone. Toni had tried to call him constantly, but Joey didn't want to even begin to hear Cipriani's mindless rants about revenge.

There was one person that Joey desperately wanted to see again. That mindless grunt that had taken the life of his father and destroyed everything. The fellow had come and gone so quickly into his life. He took everything from Joey and only left him with a big fat 'fuck you'.

The only thing that Joey could turn to was the drugs and liquor. It numbed his pain and kept him away from the harsh reality that was forming. Joey Leone was sober on this unfornuate day. Those pair of dark eyes were glancing into assorted glass that Joey had destroyed in one of his drunken rampages. This wasn't a pretty sight at all for Leone, the bloodshot eyes and five o' clock shadow only made him more disgusted at himself.

What would Salvatore say?

A hand wandered through the crop of hair, as Joey stood from the chair. His right foot smashing into the glass, making even more tiny pieces. He couldn't live like this anymore. Liberty City was calling his name like a long lost friend. Joey Leone had to make his father proud and take back the city that the Leone family had once dominated so proudly. More importantly, that mute fuck would pay in a slow death. Joey had lived out the quiet assassin's death a thousand times in his mind. Every little gruesome detail was kept in the back of his thoughts, because one day Joey would have his day of reckoning.

Joey picked up a piece of that tiny glass from the dirty ground, keeping it safely in his palm and careful to not cut himself. Leone slowly stepped into his bathroom, the big mirror was a much better tool than broken beer bottles. The edge of that piece of glass touched his face, tearing into his left cheek and blood seaped through the bloody slit the glass had formed.

Your little boy is going to make you real proud, Pops.

day: friday  
time: 9:00 AM.  
location: mama's restraunt.

"Pick up the god damn phone kid." Toni Cipriani was so sick of having to wait for Joey to get out of his anti social mode before they could strike back on Liberty City. Toni didn't want to have to fucking babysit this kid, especially during this crucial time. People were beginning to make fun of the Leones, making fun of HIM. Cipriani was going to rip the tongues out every single Judas out there. No one was going to make a mockery of him, especially in his own backyard.

He swung the phone down onto the table, causing it to shake a little bit. The plate of spaghetti and glass of wine nearly toppling over. The temptation of picking up his bat and knocking those screws out of Joey's head himself toyed with his thoughts. Joey was damn lucky that he was the son of the late Salvatore, Toni had promised the Don constantly that he would take care of the kid.

Toni was basically in charge of all the Leone interest in the city. His brash style of taking care of things was a breath of fresh air in the polluted city. People were beginning to think if they got rid of Toni, the Leone family would be finished. Cipriani refused to die, he couldn't go until the Leones were back on top of the world. They had once been kings of the mountain, and St. Marks was crawling with men. The men that were still loyal to him and Joey.

His most loyal bodyguard was right behind him, where he had been nearly the entire time that Salvatore had been killed. Bruno Aldo was completely loyal to Toni, he would take a bullet for him in a heartbeat. Toni had his back to Bruno but waved his hand up for Aldo to come sit with him. The two Italians were seated when Toni's mother came from the back door onto the patio.

"What is this the love connection? No son of mine is going to be having lunch with another man!" The eldery woman swore up and down, shaking her finger right in her son's direction.

"Ma! It's Bruno. You remember Bruno right?" Toni quickly tried to defend his most trusted friend, as Bruno stood up to give Mrs. Cipriani a bow.

"Oh yeah. The one who does all your dirty work. We know you don't do anything Toni. Now your father did EVERYTHING. He didn't take no shit from no one!" Her tone picked up with every other word, as she sat down another plate of spaghetti for Bruno.

"Yes Ma! I know Ma! OKAY MA!" Toni shouted towards his mother as she went back inside the restraunt. "I'm never going to amount to anything with her always on my case!"

Bruno remianed quiet. His greatest gift was his silence, Aldo only spoke when spoken too. He stood at a towering six feet four inches. There wasn't a speck of fat on the Italian powerhouse, it was all muscle. Bruno filled out his dark suit perfectly, as he began to pick at his food with a fork.

Cipriani finally got over his temper, coming back down from the anger rush. "Listen Bruno, I need you to go down to the Red Light District. Luigi is having some problems down with some of this Diablo trash. They think they could push in on our spots? I want you to eliminate every piece of shit that you see wearing one of those goofy getups."

A nod was the only respond from Aldo and then he would stand up. Fixing his tie for a second, before he made his way down the steps to the tiny parking lot. It was just another a job for him to complete, that was the only thing that mattered in Bruno's life. The gangster lifestyle was his fondest love.

"Take the Kuruma. There's some Russian equipment in the trunk. MAKE THEM BLEED!" Cipriani screamed from his chair, as he pounded the table with his fist.

Bruno opened the door on the driver's side, seeing that a set of car keys were already in the igniton. Aldo merely pushed the button to pop the trunk and retreated back around the blue painted car. His right hand reached in to pull out the assault rifle. The powerful AK47 was a sight for sore eyes, as Aldo slammed the trunk back down. His hazel eyes ran over the entire piece, running a hand over the top of it to feel how smooth it was. 

It was a beautiful morning in Liberty, the poets and dreamers were mixed in the sidewalk with business men and shopping wives. The sight of every busy city like Liberty, but it didn't bother Aldo. He would kill anyone, cross any line for the familiy.

With a shut door, a seatbelt and a strong engine, Bruno Aldo pulled out of the tiny parking lot and took a right to join the busy traffic of St. Marks. Out of the corner of his eye, Aldo would glance at the AK47 that laid in the passenger seat. This was the only thing he knew how to do. He was suppose to be the cold blooded killer, and he played that role to a key. Bruno could never speak to anyone about his own problems. He would forever ignore it. A strong stone in a thundering storm.

day: friday  
time: N/A  
location: our thoughts.  
narrator: micah snow

Hello. I'm Micah Snow and I'll be visiting you from time to time.

Remember those shitty old anti-gun messages? If you hold a gun that it doesn't make you a man? The fuckers were lying. In Liberty, a gun is a right of passage. A lot more people take notice when you're packing heat. There is only one thing seperating the blue collar popullation from the gangsters. That's the fear of not worrying what people think.

We all have that little part inside that makes us want to be the bad guy. The kind of person who doesn't worry about other people think and how we are percieved. The only difference between the good world and the bad world is that mere attitude of not caring.

To be apart of a family, a gang or whatever you like to call the bunch of guys working for a common goal. You have to throw yourself completely into the life and give up your freedom for the 'brotherhood.' There is no escaping a gang, there are two ways out of the 'life'. You can rat your brothers out or they throw your dead ass in a pinebox.

But what if you stop believing the shit you've been preaching?

day: friday  
time: 9:45 AM.  
location: hepburn heights.

"El Burro is the shit essa! I'd give my life for that motherfucker!" A very young and quick tempered Juan Martinez shouted to no one in particular. He was laying on the trunk of a Diablo Stallion and took a quick hit of a joint.

"El Burro ain't nothing but a legend man. I ain't never seen that foo' anywhere." Juan's brother Mando responded, as he sat on the bench. The famous payphone where the head honcho would call in from at his side. Mando itched the thin beard on his chin and continued to hang out. A few empty bottles of forty ounces laying all over the place. The evening before had sprawled out into this lovely morning.

"I need to fuck me a ho today man! Maybe two of dem! Mamacitas make me feel like a man essa!" Juan kept speaking in this loud tone, causing Mando to throw a bottle in his direction.

The headache that the older Mexican brother had wasn't doing any better with his fast talking brother's mindless bullshit. "We have to stay on task. El Burro wants us to move in on the main clubs in the Red Light District today. You did pick up those uzis right?"

"Yeah man. Fucking essa made me pay extra for the banana clip. The next place we take over has to be that fucking Ammunation. Nobody makes me look like a bitch!" Juan's temper only caused Mando to roll his eyes.

Another Diablo approached the brothers, a baseball bat in his right hand as the thick Mexican accent verified the fellow as being a loyal member. "Hey homies. You ready to dis the shit or what?"

Mando tilted his head for a second and finally realized who this was. "Hey Emilio. What the fuck are you doing up so early?"

Emilio scratched the back of his head. "Eh man. You didn't get the call from El Burro man? He wants us to finish the rest of those wops today."

"Those fucking greaseballs ain't nothing anymore. The fucking Red Jacks even have more street credit than those pussies." Juan boasted, coming off the hood and standing to his feet. The young Mexican would reach through the window of the Stallion and pulled out the uzis. He tossed the first Isreali weapon to his brother and kept the first to himself.

Mando made sure the clip was in. The screeching wheels of the Kurama fell on the trio's ears. The barrel of the AK47 was the first thing that Emilio Sanchez would see as he looked up. "HOLY SHIT!"

The chamber of the Russian rifled grew hot, as the bullets began spitting fire in the direction of Mando Martinez. The bullets were ripping through the flesh of the Mexican, as Juan grimaced and began firing shots at the sedan.

Emilio turned and began running in the opposite direction. The baseball bat was dropped in a heartbeat and Emilio never felt the first bullet to pierce his lower back. Bullets invaded Emilio's spinal cord and caused the Diablo to hit the ground in a pulp. His bottom lip busting open from the impact of the ground.

Juan shouted loud, as the random people on the sidewalk screamed and ran in horror. "DIE MOTHERFUCKER! DIE MOTHERFUCKER!" He repeated as the clip in his uzi fell to the ground. Martinez hurried to get next clip into the weapon, but out of the corner of his eye, he could see his brother gasping for air.

Bruno Aldo had reloaded by this time. The loud smacking of the clip into the rifle was heard by all and by time Juan had turned to face the Italian it was far too late. Bullet after bullet hit him in the upper chest and one lucky one ripped into his face and tore away the flesh. Aldo fired the rifle until it started clicking and Bruno tossed it back to the passenger seat.

The car was gone in a heartbeat.

Emilio was still breathing, his arms dragging his limp body towards the street. For some reason...Emilio couldn't feel his legs. His right hand came out and those fingers came to make a fist. "He...hel...help.."

The two gangster brothers weren't that lucky. They had gotten into the gang at the same time and been through so much together. It would seem that they would go through this final trip together. Juan had been killed instantly, as soon as the lead pumped into his face. The limp body lay in a crooked fashion near the Diablo Stallion.

Mando was still fighting for the last bits of air through his bloody lungs. He laid his face against the cold cement and couldn't understand why he could barely feel the ground against his cheek. His vision was blurring and Martinez could barely make out his brother's corspe. The older brother had been thinking about quitting the gang and raising his little babygirl. It would seem that the street had other plans and we all know the street's word is final.

One more harsh breath and Mando was gone. His only consolation was freedom.

day: friday  
time: the aftermath.  
location: our thoughts.  
narrator: micah snow

routine noun a sequence of actions regularly followed

At the end of the day, we all follow some sort of routine. If you're a crack head, you look for that next cheap hit to get you by. We all want some basic routine to keep our lives balanced and pleasurable. We search a lifetime for the right actions to follow and we make sure everyday is a good day.

Even in a shit filled city like Liberty...We all want that special routine that gets us to tommorow. That's what it's all about ...getting to tommorow.

If life were easy, how would we learn to live? We wouldn't have to make mistakes or difficult decisions. It is through learning from our mistakes, making hard decisions and experiencing life that we learn who we are and grow. With these experiences we figure out how to live, how to interact and how to enjoy life.


End file.
